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i miss you poem

the hypocritic days
beneath my window in a city street
when i go back to earth
under the harvest moon
as a white candle
if the red slayer think he slays
from song and dream for ever gone
a bird sang
no prey am i of poor thoughts
by the rude bridge
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
it was a tall young oysterman

 



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